Read Online Heaven's Promise by Paolo Hewitt - Free Book Online

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    â€˜Good, good, I am glad to hear it. I too am getting by but, boy, it’s a struggle. Last night, I had the posse over at my yard and we spoke deep into the night until suddenly there was a knock at the door and the police were there. Some white neighbour had rung them to complain about noise.’
    He kissed his teeth in disgust. ‘We’re living in a fascist state and no one gives a shit about it.’
    The fact of the matter was that everytime Daddy C. had cause to use the word white, it was like putting a huge chunk of steak into a vegetarian’s mouth. It got spat out pretty quickly and with much venom.
    â€˜Then, this morning, I was awoken by some silly little girl who wants to write a piece for one of these rag sheets about the so called new black militancy. She thinks it’s really trendy and all she wants is an in. She’ll be our friend for as long as we’re in fashion then she’ll be onto the next thing. I don’t trust these white liberals who sniff around us and our culture, they make me sick.’
    I ignored the bait for I was determined not to be dragged into one, the simple fact being that the Sandra business had definitely put my mood into some shadings which were not at all conducive towards a verbal argy bargy.
    Daddy Cecil was not to be put off.
    â€˜Why does whitey want to be our friend?’ he asked, out loud and to no-one in particular, shaking his head and examining the ingredients of his Ribena carton as if the answer was somehow to be found there.
    â€˜I know they like to bed our women because they haven’t stopped that particular activity since slavery when they raped every black sister in sight. Naturally, when it’s the other way round and a brother wants to check one of their women, why then boy, you’d better watch out. But everything is alright for the white boy. He’s still checking our sisters, I see.’
    Daddy Cecil was something of a regular at the Unity Club and kept an eye on a lot of people’s runnings, my business with Sandra included, and so when I muttered, ‘easy,’ under my breath, he knew he had hit a raw nerve and pounced like a bass line right on top of the beat.
    â€˜Ah yes,’ he pointedly said, glancing over my way, ‘our sisters are much in demand these days amongst the white boys trying to make up for the sins of their forefathers.’
    My tongue moved without prompting as I saw red, not black, in front of me.
    â€˜Perhaps if the sisters were better treated by their so called brothers,’ I stated, looking straight at Daddy C., ‘then they wouldn’t be crossing the tracks in such great numbers and leaving them behind.’
    In an instant Daddy C.’s face turned serious and he started in on me.
    â€˜What do you know about the sisters?’ he demanded, ‘or the black man, come to that?’
    But before I could drop a line like, ‘only what a 1000 sisters have told me,’ or something equally as stupid because, face it, guys treated gals the same the world over and nothing it is to do with colour, Brother P. was ordering us to cool it, cool it and cool it. Daddy C. kept staring hard at me as I agreed we should drop it but he knew the value of getting in the last word, after all he had studied many politicians, and he wasn’t going to throw away the chance.
    â€˜Trouble with a lot of people in this town,’ he said, ‘they think everything is cool and irie but they know jack shit. You should come round my yard. Large council estate, no one works and there’s a fucking war going down between us and the so called civilized white majority. We’re getting cuffed up every day, families, children, the lot and no one wants to help us. Not the pigs or anyone. The day we break free from this hell is the day we will start to live and the only way to do that is to unite amongst ourselves and break free. You see, Mr. DJ Man, you don’t check